


Settling

by OrionRedde, Shyrstyne



Series: Cometverse [40]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen, Mentions of child neglect, Original Nonbinary Character - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-09 16:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18921076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrionRedde/pseuds/OrionRedde, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyrstyne/pseuds/Shyrstyne
Summary: Vanitas and his adjustments to being a Person, with a Home and a Family.





	1. The Room

  They’ve given Vanitas a room.

  It’s a little bare, with neutral tones and nothing on the walls, but it’s  _ his.  _ And they  _ gave it to him _ . There’s a simple twin bed, a dresser, and a desk with a matching chair, all made from the same darkly stained wood. It’s… it’s  _ his. _ He brings his hands up slightly, picking at his nails.

  “Do you like it?” Comet asks, almost hesitantly, from the doorway behind him. “I kept everything simple so you can decorate it later. We can even repaint the walls, if you like.”

  Vanitas can’t quite comprehend the thought. Choosing colors. Decorating. Painting walls.  _ His.  _

  “It’s… I like it,” he decides. “I’ll… I’ll think about the decorating thing.”

  “Fair enough,” Comet agrees easily, and when he glances back at them they look pleased and relieved. “Well? Go ahead! Check it out.”

  Vanitas hesitantly shuffles forward, unsure of what he should do. He  _ knows  _ what a bedroom is, it’s just… he remembers Ven’s room, filled with bits and books and knicknacks. He’s never  _ had  _ one himself before. He reaches out and touches the blanket on the bed. It’s made of a smooth material, and filled with some sort of stuffing. It’s squishy. The bedframe is smoothly sanded down and polished. The pillows are soft and fluffy.

  Vanitas feels emotion well up from his chest, and briefly fears he’ll pour out an Unversed… but nothing happens. For now.

  He moves to the desk.

  There’s nothing on it or in it, yet. Some part of him looks forward to filling it, but what would he use it for? He doesn’t study anything. Thoughts for later.

  The dresser is has simple clothes in it - a few shirts, pants, underthings, the like. The colors range from grays to blues to a few reds. Simple colors, but different to what he’s currently wearing. He appreciates the thought.

  There are two doors attached to his room. He opens one and finds a small room. Oh, he knows what this is!

  “This is a panic room, right?” He asks, examining the small space. The bars attached to the sides are a little weird, but whatever.

  “That’s… that’s a closet,” Comet tells him. “You put clothes on hangers, which you hang on the bars on the side. But it can be a hidey hole if you want it to be.”

  “...oh.” There’s nothing Vanitas can say to that. So, technically not  _ wrong,  _ but he wasn’t right either. He feels himself tense, waiting for the blow that’s sure to come-

  Nothing happens.

  Why is nothing happening?

  Vanitas turns his head slightly to look at Comet.

  “Something wrong?” They ask after a moment, concerned.

  But...he was wrong? He gets  _ punished  _ when he’s wrong.

  “I was wrong about the closet,” he gets out, testing.

  “......okay?” Comet says, confused. “What about it?”

  Vanitas feels like the world has tilted. But he was  _ wrong.  _ Comet has to be waiting until he isn’t expecting it. Joke’s on them. He’s  _ always  _ ready. 

  The tension doesn’t leave his shoulders as he opens the next door.

  “Bathroom,” he says out loud, stepping into the room. The bathroom is simple. He recognizes a sink, a toilet, and a bathtub. There’s a small cabinet where he assumes supplies of some sort are kept. There’s a small cup with a toothbrush in it and a small tube of toothpaste next to it. The bathroom mirror opens, and he finds a hairbrush, a comb, and a stick of deodorant. In the bathtub, which has glass doors attached to it for some reason, there’s a small shelf attached to the wall. There’s a bottle of shampoo, of conditioner, and a bar of soap. He doesn’t recognize the scents, but they’re not unpleasant. 

  Might as well figure out the way this thing works while he’s here.

  Vanitas fiddles with the knobs. He knows an “H” equals hot and blue “C” equals cold, but what’s this little knobby thing in the middle? He turns the water on, figuring out which knob does what, and yanks on the tiny knobby thing.

  “What the SHIT?!” Vanitas barks, lunging away from the water suddenly falling on his head.

  He looks up.

  Oh.

  There’s a shower head.

  “You alright in there?” Comet calls softly. They haven’t left the doorway to the bedroom.

  “I’m fine!” Vanitas snaps, ignoring the strange heat in his face.

  “Alrighty then,” Comet says. Vanitas briefly feels bad, but shakes it off. It’s fine. He’s fine.

  He emerges from the bathroom. Comet smiles at him from where they’re standing.

  “Everything look okay?” They ask.

  “Yeah,” Vanitas tells them.

  “Great!” They enthuse, clapping their hands together. Vanitas tries not to flinch at the noise. “What sounds good for dinner?”

  Why are they asking him?

  “...anything, I guess,” he answers.

  “That’s fair,” Comet hums. “I’ll let you know when food’s ready. You need anything?”

  Does he?

  “I think I’m good,” Vanitas rasps, glancing around the room again, just… taking it in.

  “Alrighty,” Comet says simply. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  With that, they walk off. Vanitas listens to them walk down the stairs and waits, silent and still. He cautiously closes the door, then freezes. When they don’t slam the door open and demand what he thinks he’s doing, he opens it and peeks out. Empty hallway.

  Vanitas closes the door again. Walks over and sits on the bed.

  On  _ his  _ bed.

  Vanitas has a bed now.

  He flops back, feeling the mattress bounce, fingers running over the smooth material of the comforter. It smells  _ clean.  _ Fresh. 

  He feels  _ dirty  _ in comparison.

  He’s dirty compared to most things anyway.

  Vanitas… drifts, like that. Unfocused. Thoughts whirl around his head at a million miles a second, mostly focused on one thing: he  _ owns  _ something, now.  _ Several  _ somethings. A bed. A desk. A dresser. A bathroom. Clothes. An entire room for himself. It’s… it’s overwhelming.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  Vanitas bolts upright, tense, bracing himself.

  “Hey, kiddo,” Lea’s voice drifts through the closed door. “Comet says that food’s ready. We’re eating in the living room if you wanna join us.” 

  Footsteps as Lea walks away.

  Vanitas waits, heart racing in his throat.

  Nothing happens.

  After a moment, Vanitas cautiously gets off the bed and tiptoes to the door. He silently opens it and peeks outside. Nothing. Slowly, Vanitas leaves his bedroom ( _ his  _ bedroom!) and pads down the hallway. Nothing ambushes him on the way. He edges down the stairs, heart freezing with each creak of the steps. 

  Comet and Lea are on the couch, eating as they watch TV. Lea twitches his head in Vanitas’ direction, obviously having heard him, but doesn’t take his focus away from the TV. That’s fine. As long as they’re not looking at him, Vanitas is okay.

  Vanitas enters the kitchen. He recognizes hamburgers, assorted toppings, and some potato chips. There’s a cup of ice and a can of soda waiting for him. Vanitas makes himself a plate and pauses, unsure. Part of him wants to just eat in the kitchen, but the other part of him…

  Vanitas walks into the living room, clutching his food close to his chest. He tentatively settles into an armchair, warily eyeing Comet and Lea on the couch. They both acknowledge him with a smile or a nod, but, thankfully, leave him alone. He isn’t sure if he can take being talked at, right now. He carefully eats his burger and chips, savoring the soda and the pickles. He puts his dishes up and, filled with anxious energy, puts away what he can of dinner. Comet comes in, putting away their and Lea’s dishes and picking up the rest of dinner. Vanitas anxiously keeps to the edges of the kitchen, unsure of where he stands with them at the moment.

  “Thanks for helping pick up, Van,” Comet says, smiling at him. “I appreciate it.”

  “No… no problem,” Vanitas manages, still waiting for Something to happen.

  But nothing ever does.

  The evening is peaceful, Lea and Comet simply enjoying each other’s presence, talking quietly. They’re not…  _ ignoring  _ Vanitas, just giving him space. It’s… it’s nice. It’s nice. Vanitas curls against the back of the armchair, eyes glued to the TV but not watching it, consumed with his own thoughts. 

  Eventually, he goes to bed, mumbling a quiet “good night” to Lea and Comet. They return it with such genuine emotion it makes him feel weak. Vanitas’ hands shake as he tentatively goes through a routine he learned from Comet - pajamas, brush teeth, wash face. He crawls between the covers of the bed. It’s softer than the cot, and impossibly warmer. Vanitas allows himself to soften, closing his eyes.

  But…

  It’s just too  _ open  _ in here.

  The bed  _ is  _ pushed against a wall, but Vanitas just… can’t accept it. He still feels  _ too exposed.  _

  The closet.

  Ignoring the faint screaming of terror in the back of his head, Vanitas grabs the blanket, the sheets, and the pillows and marches over to the closet. He shoves the sheets into the back of the tiny room and to the side. He throws on the pillows and, closing the door until there’s just a crack open, Vanitas takes his comforter ( _ his  _ comforter) and curls up on the nest he’s made. The wall presses against his back, the tight space making him curl up to fit. He feels safely ensconced, knowing that nothing can get in that he can’t see or sense. The almost complete darkness is soothing, the nest soft and warm.

  Yeah…

  This is better.

  Vanitas closes his eyes…

 

  You quietly knock on Vanitas’ door, stifling a yawn.

  “Vanitas?” You call out softly. “Breakfast is ready.”

  You wait. No reply.

  “Vanitas?” You call again.

  Nothing. You’re not afraid, though. Maybe he’s well and truly conked out. Your first night on an Actual Bed and not a scrounged cot or old mattress was pretty heavenly, you recall.

  “Vanitas?” You say for a third time. “I’m going to come in now.”

  You slowly creak the door open.

  The bed has been stripped of  _ everything _ , is the first thing you notice. You cock your head at it, pondering. Why did Vanitas take everything off the bed? And where’s Vanitas? You feel concern rise in you before you see the closet doors are open just a crack.

  You hear soft breathing.

  Carefully, quietly, you tiptoe to where you hear it coming from within the closet. You peek inside through the cracked open door. You bite your lip. Vanitas has made himself a nest, and it reminds you  _ very _ strongly of a crude Were nest. He’s clutching his pillow and the edge of his comforter close to his mouth, curled up in a fetal position. You don’t want to wake him up, but it’s late morning, and he needs to eat.

  “Vanitaaas~,” you sing-song. “Time to get uuup~! Breakfast is ready.”

  “Mmmmrph,” Vanitas grunts, eyebrows scrunching. He hides his face in his pillow. You can’t help a giggle.

  “Come on, sleepyhead,” you tease. “I know you’re comfy, but you need to eat! I’ve made some chorizo hash if you want any.”

  “ ‘m up,” Vanitas grumps. “ ‘m awake.”

  “Are you, though?” You tease, cracking the door a little more open.

  Vanitas raises his head to give you a nasty glare. You snort at the sight of his bedhead. Absolutely  _ adorable.  _

  “Good morning, sunshine!” You laugh. “It’s time to face the day! Did you have a good sleep?”

  Vanitas blinks slowly, still rebooting.

  “........yeah,” he eventually rasps, voice thick with sleep. “I slept good.”

  “Good!” You chirp. “I’m glad! Are you gonna come down and eat?”

  “Y-yeah,” Vanitas yawns widely, eyes scrunching closed from the force of it. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”

  “Slow roll as much as you like, kiddo,” you tell him. “I’ll fix you a plate and have it out for you by the time you get down.”

  “M’kay,” Vanitas mumbles, swaying in place as he still attempts to wake up. “Thanks.”

  Your heart warms at that.

  “Alright, Van, I’ll see you downstairs,” you tell him, getting to your feet. Vanitas just grunts in acknowledgement, scrubbing at his eyes. The curling up in the closet.. You’re not going to confront him on it, you know you’ve done it yourself as a kid, and it’s his room to do as he pleases. You remind yourself to tell him that he should wash the blankets more often if he’s going to have them on the floor though.

 

  Vanitas blinks muzzily at the closet door, where Comet had been not two seconds ago. He feels… groggy, is what he thinks the word is. Like there’s mud over his senses and brain. It’s not a  _ bad  _ thing, he thinks. Just… comfortable. He’s comfortable. 

  Clutching his comforter around him like a cloak, Vanitas sleepily makes his way to the kitchen. It’s just Comet here, this morning, writing down a list of some sort while consulting a few papers in a folder on the table. He remembers that Lea leaves early in the morning to train, sometimes. That’s fine.

  Comet looks up at Vanitas and smiles.

  “Plate’s in the microwave,” Comet tells him. “Should still be warm. Got orange juice and milk in the fridge if you want some.”

  If he  _ wants  _ some. The phrase is foreign to Vanitas. He knows what they’re  _ saying.  _ But what if he wants  _ both?  _

  Carefully watching them for their reaction, Vanitas grabs two cups and puts a little bit of juice into one cup and a little bit of milk in the other. Comet, who has since turned back to their paperwork, doesn’t react. Vanitas sets his cups on the table and retrieves his plate, sitting down on the table. He spoons a bite of hash into his mouth.

  It’s good. Juice is good. Milk is good.

  Comet sips their coffee.

  Vanitas feels his eyes close, shoulders loosening.

  He feels…

  Vanitas feels  _ safe. _

__ It’s  _ weird.  _

  Is this what people are talking about when they talk about home? 

  Maybe… maybe he could get used to this.


	2. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boundaries are meant to be tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c

  Vanitas can’t take it anymore.

  He’s done and tried  _ everything. _ He’s accidentally dropped plates and cups, but instead of striking him for being clumsy and weak, Comet and even  _ Lea  _ had checked up on  _ him,  _ making sure  _ Vanitas  _ was okay, that he didn’t have shards in his feet or hands or face. He failed in reading a sign correctly, in writing his own goddamn name, but Comet had instead asked if he wanted to improve, offered to sit down with him and help him, instead of twisting his ears or slapping his face and calling him worthless, stupid, meaningless. Incidents like these sit heavy in his heart, because he  _ knows  _ it’s coming. He  _ knows  _ it is! 

  So why hasn’t Comet just… just  _ done  _ it, already? Why haven’t they punished him?

  Vanitas stares sightlessly down at the glass he’s holding, unable to remember why he’d grabbed it in the first place. 

  “Everything okay?” Comet asks from the kitchen table.

  Vanitas looks up at them. He takes in their expression. They seem curious and worried, but he  _ knows  _ it’s fake. He just knows it is!

_ Fuck this,  _ he thinks, clenching his jaw.

  Vanitas makes eye contact with them and deliberately throws the glass down at his feet. He barely flinches at the noise.  _ Now  _ they’ll punish him, he thinks.  _ Now  _ they’ll do what he  _ knows  _ they’ve been waiting for. Now now now now now-

  “Vanitas,” Comet says and Vanitas tenses here it comes- “Why did you do that?”

_ “To get it over with,”  _ Vanitas grits out, feeling his heart thud painfully in his chest.

  Comet just stares at him, eyes wide, and why are they playing innocent he’s  _ onto them-  _

  “Well?!” He barks, ignoring how his voice cracks, how his eyes sting, how his hands  _ shake.  _ “Get it over with! Just  _ do it  _ already!”

  “Vanitas, what-” Comet starts but no he’s done he’s  _ done he’s done- _

_   “JUST FUCKING-!”  _ He snarls, strangling down the emotion making his eyes sting and face burn and throat ache. “ _ FINISH YOUR TEST!  _ OR FUCKING GAME! OR WHATEVER THE  _ FUCK  _ THIS IS! FUCKING STRINGING ME ALONG WITH- WITH ALL  _ THIS!”  _ Vanitas shouts, throwing his hands out. “The food, the cot, the room, the  _ clothes, the- the EVERYTHING! I ALREADY KNOW I FAILED!  _ So just-!” Vanitas chokes, hot liquid spilling out of his eyes as his voice fails him. “Just  _ get it over with _ , already!”

  His vision blurs. Vanitas scrubs his eyes, ignoring his tears.

  “Vanitas…” Comet rasps. “Vanitas, you  _ didn’t  _ fail-”

  Vanitas instantly grabs another glass and raises it as if to throw it down again because he  _ did fail  _ they’re wrong they’re wrong they’re wrong why won’t they just dO IT-?! 

  He looks into their face and freezes. They’re… they’re not mad. Or… or disappointed. They… why aren’t they yelling at him? Why aren’t they striking him? They don’t look… they don’t look  _ anything  _ like… like  **Xehanort.** Why aren’t they angry why why why-

  “Vanitas,” Comet starts again, voice  _ infuriatingly  _ calm and steady. “What do you think you failed at?”

_ Everything  _ he failed at  _ everything  _ he failed he failed fail failure  _ failure-  _

  “I got- I got the  _ closet  _ thing wrong!” Vanitas blurts out, clutching the glass. “And- And I tell you to fuck off all the time! And I break shit! And I take more than I need!”  _ greedy, ungrateful child  _ “And- and I- I can barely read! Or write! And I don’t know what half the food is and I don’t know what’s going on in the TV and I don’t sleep on the bed and I- I’m  _ BAD _ , okay?!” Why is his face so hot? Why are his hands shaking? “I’m bad! I’m  _ supposed _ to be bad! So just- just do what you’ve been waiting for! You have your proof!! Just get rid of me!”

  Vanitas pants harshly, feeling drained for some reason. There’s a roaring in his ears. His sight blurs again and he irritably swipes at one eye.

   Comet visibly swallows.

  “That… that doesn’t make you  _ bad _ , Vanitas, or a failure,” they say and what what what  _ what what  _ **_what?!_ ** “Not knowing things isn’t something to be punished. It’s okay to not know things. You don’t  _ have  _ to sleep on the bed. You can sleep wherever you want! And things are just  _ things,  _ Vanitas! They’re replaceable, but  _ you’re not.  _ There’s only one Vanitas, and he isn’t bad or stupid or worthless.”

  Vanitas… Vanitas feels  _ numb.  _ He just stares at Comet, seeing them but not. The glass slips from his nerveless fingers, shattering on the tile. Neither of them flinch.

  Vanitas needs to  _ hide.  _

  He stalks out, taking the stairs two at a time, locking his bedroom door (not that it would stop anybody if they  _ really  _ wanted to get him) and hiding in his closet, curling up in his blanket nest. There’s a roaring in his ears, blocking out all other noises. His breath comes in short, desperate gasps as an emotion he doesn’t know explodes in his chest and squeezes his throat and burns his eyes and-

  Vanitas comes back to himself. The sunlight has long since faded. His belly growls at him. How long…? It doesn’t matter. There’s weird crust around his eyes and nose that he scrubs off. He feels… dry. Withered. He reluctantly crawls out of the nest and goes to the bathroom. His eyes are puffy and rimmed with red, dried tear tracks down his cheeks. Vanitas stares blankly at his reflection for a moment before turning the sink on, scrubbing his face and drinking some water. He returns to his room ( _ if  _ it’s still his) and paces, careful to keep his footsteps quiet

  Comet didn’t hit him.

  Neither they nor Lea have barged into hi- the room to toss him out.

  They never raise their voices at him, or their hands, or make him do things he doesn’t want to do (besides baths, but… he’s found that being clean feels  _ good  _ and chases away memories of crawling through dirt and dust and-), or do anything that feels like- like  **Xehanort.** They remember what food he likes, they actually explain things, they make sure he knows where they are and don’t touch him or get into his personal space without his permission. They’re… respectful of him, of his space and limits.

  Vanitas can’t quite comprehend the thought.

  His belly growls.

  He needs to eat.

  Vanitas creeps to his door and cracks it open.

  There’s… there’s a thermos on the ground in front of his door. This is  _ Comet’s  _ thermos. Vanitas feels another emotion well in his throat as he picks it up. He quietly shuts his door and sinks to the floor, clutching the thermos to his chest. He unscrews the top and sniffs deeply. Stars, it even  _ smells  _ the same. He takes a sip of the broth. It’s the exact same stew, too.

  Vanitas’ eyes burn again, but he’s wrung out and sheds no more tears. He almost miserably sips at the stew, tasting beef and potatoes and carrots and celery and pepper. He can name what he tastes, now. He knows more than he did back then.

  Vanitas finishes the stew, places the thermos back outside his door, and crawls back into his nest, leaving the closet door open a crack so he can see if anybody comes at him in the night. He doesn’t think anybody will, but his heart isn’t so convinced. He stares out the door until his eyes close without his permission.

  Vanitas jerks awake to a knock at his door.

  “Vanitas?” Comet’s voice floats in. “I’m leaving you some breakfast, okay? Take whatever time you need. I’m here if you need  _ anything _ . Whenever, whatever. I’ll be downstairs.” 

  Retreating footsteps.

  Vanitas waits, once again wrestling with the concept of… of  _ needing  _ anything, of this  _ space  _ they’re respecting. He quietly leaves the closet, eats the breakfast, brushes his teeth, his mind occupied with everything except with what he’s doing. Vanitas changes his clothes, wrapping a bandana tightly around his head to hide his hair, and leaves through the window, just to remind himself that there’s escape available to him if he needs it. He aimlessly walks around Twilight Town, sticking to the outskirts and avoiding people. 

  Vanitas needs space to think.

  He ends up thinking for most of the day, eating lunch from the meal bars he keeps hoarded in his inventory. He returns a little bit after dinner time, taking the dinner plate from outside his door, mechanically eating the sandwich, and returning his empty dish outside.

  The fact that they’re still leaving food for him, still waiting, makes him cry again. Yes, he’s crying. He’s acknowledging this now. He’s crying. He cried last night, he cried this morning, and he’s crying again now as he mechanically brushes his teeth before bed. Stars above, he’s so tired of crying. Tired of all this… this uncertainty. 

  Vanitas will apologize tomorrow, he decides, curling up in his nest. If he feels up to it.

 

  The next morning he waits once more, crouched by the door. He listens to Comet and Lea talk in the kitchen, listens as Lea leaves. Comet doesn’t come back upstairs immediately, probably having their coffee.

  Okay.

  He can do this.

  Vanitas stealths out of his room and down the stairs, heart pounding in his ears. Sure enough, Comet is sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. They look up at him when they spot him standing in the kitchen doorway. They give him a small, soft smile.

  “Good morning, Van,” they murmur. “Did you have a good sleep?”

  Straight to the point. Asking  _ Vanitas  _ if he slept well. Always asking after him, if he’s okay, if he had a good day, what his opinion is. It’s… he still doesn’t know what it is, how to handle this… this  _ consideration.  _

  “I…” Vanitas licks his dry lips nervously. “Yeah, I slept okay. I… I’m  _ sorry. _ ”

  Vanitas’ shoulders hunch, waiting for the blow up, or ignoring him, or the brush off. Comet blinks at him.

  “I forgive you,” they say simply, giving him another soft smile, putting down their coffee cup. “What do you want for breakfast? I can make you something.”

  “...is there any bacon left?” Vanitas asks, feeling the vice around his neck and heart ease slightly. 

  “Sure,” Comet hums, opening the fridge and pulling out the package of bacon. “I managed to save some from Lea. I’ll fix up some eggs, too.” They also set out the juice, the milk, and three glasses before getting started on cooking, humming slightly as they whisk a few eggs in a bowl.

  Vanitas stares down at the glasses. He knows that two of them for him. He knows that Comet has noticed he drinks both milk and juice in the mornings, has set these glasses out in  _ consideration  _ of him. It makes his heart tremble in his chest, bring a kind of sweet burning to his eyes.

  Vanitas thinks a moment, weighing his observations and experiences.

  He pours himself a glass of juice and a glass of milk for Comet and puts the other glass back into the cabinet. He doesn’t need both, anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Vanitas didn’t notice, Comet is _definitely_ close to tears, here.   
> I struggled a lot with this particular piece, trying to make reactions realistic while also trying to reach some sort of closure that wasn’t forced or too perfect to feel right. With Shyrstyne’s help, I think I managed to get there okay.  
>  Our personal headcanon is that Vanitas barely has an education, if any. Reading above a certain grade school level is hard for him, as are some maths. The only stuff he knows is because he retains some from the Original Ventus and whatever Xehadick felt like monologuing about. Vanitas is ashamed and angry about his perceived lack. It just proves to him that he’s Not Good Enough.  
>  Comet aims to fix this, don’t worry!


	3. Painting Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas makes a new friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's ready for some art therapy!

“Is Van here?” Someone asks and Comet turns to come face to face with Haru and Naminé.

“Hey Haru, I’m not sure actually. I think he’s gone out for the afternoon, but I’m sure he’s around somewhere, or you could wait here for a bit.”

Haru looks at Naminé, who nods.

“Mind if we stay for lunch?”

“Of course.” Comet says. “I was just going to have leftovers, but there should be enough for all of us if you don’t mind casserole.”

Haru takes a seat and gestures for Naminé to take the one beside him. She takes it with a grateful smile before turning her head back to Comet.

“How did you end up with so much?” She asks quietly. Comet laughs.

“I always make extra, partly so I have an excuse to shove more on Lea, but mostly just in case Roxas and Xion come home. Those two could eat me out of house and home, I swear.”

Haru and Naminé share a giggle, and Comet disappears upstairs to get the food. They ask if the two want to come up, but they both refuse, content to remain at the empty bar.

Naminé takes his hand under the bar.

“Nice to get out for a bit, right?” He asks. She gives him a small smile.

“Mh hm. Twilight Town is always very scenic. I love the way the light changes the colours of everything, even at the height of day.”

“You should paint it sometime.” He says. She flushes.

“I’ve drawn it, a little. I don’t think I could do it justice.”

“It would be amazing.” He assures. “You’d make it yours.”

“Well, I’d try.” She fidgets with the hem of her dress, and then looks up as the door to the bar dings and someone enters.

“Oh, it’s you.” The black haired boy seems surprised. Haru rolls his eyes.

“Hello to you too, Van.”

“Uh. Hi.” He says awkwardly. Haru gets up and gestures to Naminé.

“This is Naminé, Naminé, this is Van.”

“Vanitas.” He corrects stiffly. He hadn’t known Haru then, tried to hide behind a flimsy pseudonym, but now he should know better.

Haru shrugs.

“Okay. Vanitas.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Vanitas.” Naminé greets politely. “Haru’s been telling me about you.”

Vanitas’ gaze flicks to the other boy with barely disguised suspicion.

“That so.”

“Just what we did last time.” Haru shrugs.

“I’m not very good at racing,” Naminé says, fiddling with one hand, “But I’m sure we could find something else to do together.”

Comet emerges from the second floor.

“Oh, Van! You’re back, good. There’s enough for everyone here, so grab a fork and dig in.” They set the reheated casserole on the tabletop alongside a handful of silverware.

“Naminé likes to draw.” Haru says proudly as he picks up a fork and digs in. “She’s really good at it, you should see.”

She flushes at the praise, glancing at Vanitas as she takes her own utensil.

“If you want. I do have my sketchbook with me.” She says as she takes a bite of the casserole.

“Sure.” Vanitas shrugs. It’s not like he really had any other plans. Comet nods.

“I’d love to see. What do you work with?”

“Whatever is nearby,” She says quietly. “I like coloured pencils the best though.”

“You like paint too.” Haru says, barely managing to swallow first and maintain politeness. He moves the bowl closer to Naminé, encouraging her to eat more, to which she shakes her head. He looks at Vanitas next, who hasn’t eaten any, who rolls his eyes and picks up a fork to take a bite..

“I do, but paints need more.. Working space, I guess. It take a lot of time to get them set up right. Pencils I can just pick one up and start drawing.”

“You could ask Kaze for one of the smaller rooms just for painting, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” Comet says.

“Maybe.” Naminé smiles. “But I really do like the pencils, look-” She pulls out a little bundle from her satchel, unrolling it to reveal a row of neatly organized coloured pencils.

“Kaze gave me this as a moving in present, so I can bring them with me more easily when I go out.” She’s smiling widely as she shows it off, poking through the various pockets for erasers, sharpeners, a smudge stick, etc. She’s almost glowing as she talks about each piece and how she works with it.

Vanitas doesn’t know anything about drawing, or creating. He’s always associated this kind of enthusiasm with fighting. It’s strange, but for once the strangeness doesn’t put him off, instead he finds it intriguing. She pulls out her sketchbook, showing the landscapes and portraits she’s done.

They’re beautiful.

He watches as if from a distance as they flip through the pages, each with an explanation, or an inspiration. Comet and Haru both ask questions and chatter as he looks at the images quietly.

“Could I do that?”

Haru and Comet look up at him in surprise, but Naminé just smiles.

“Of course! I could show you some tricks I’ve learned, if you like.”

He nods.

“Yeah I’d, uh. Yeah.”

“I’ve got some scrap paper upstairs if you’d like to start now.” Comet says, putting the now finished dish to the side. All three kids nod enthusiastically and head for the stairs. Comet pulls out some sheets out from a cabinet in the hallway and hands them off before putting dishes away and then heading back downstairs to prep the bar to open.

Once the pencil, lent from Naminé, is in his hands though, he doesn’t know where to start. He stands still in the hall, pencil in paper in hand, not quite sure where to go from there.

Naminé settles down cross-legged on the floor of the den and Haru makes himself at home on the couch. Van settles across from Naminé, still somewhat paralyzed by the indecision. Haru, clearly already used to doing this with Naminé, is scribbling across his sheet, equal parts writing and doodling.

“What do I do?” Vanitas asks eventually. Naminé taps a pencil on her lip, considering.

“Well, for me it depends on what I’m feeling. Sometimes I just want to draw what I see, it helps me practice, and helps me focus on what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling. Other times, if something is bothering me, I might draw something that helps me... Figure out that emotion, get it out onto the page instead of in me. After I’m done, it’s easier to deal with, usually.”

He looks down at the blank page again.

 _‘It’s not like the unversed.’_ He scolds himself.

The page says nothing.

“Sometimes an empty page is a little intimidating.” She says kindly, misinterpreting his lack of movement. “I like to make a line or a scribble in the corner, just so something is already there and then I can start.”

He still doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He _hates_ that.

He tries to take her advice, presses the pencil to paper, and starts to scribble.

Before he knows it, he’s drawn it across the page in wild, erratic loops, filtered through with dark heavy edges and jagged motions. The lines press deep into the paper, nearly tearing it at points as he drags the dull point across it. The motion is short and frantic, and suddenly he realises he’s filled the entire page this way, with this incomprehensible squiggle. Graphite powder scatters the page and he can feel something digging sharply into his palm.

He tosses the paper aside, suddenly guilty.

Even when he’s trying to make things he only seems capable of wrecking them.

Naminé smiles softly as she picks it up though.

“It’s perfect.” She says simply. He leans back, not quite able to process that.

“What? It’s just some random lines.”

“So are mine. They just have different purposes. You took what you felt, and then put it on the page. That’s great!”

Haru smiles softly from his spot on the couch, still looking at his own page. Some of the words he’s written have been crossed out, and the spaces between them are strange.

Vanitas looks at his squiggles again.

“I.. guess?”

“Well, do you feel better?”

He does, actually. Naminé picks up a blank page and hands it to him.

“Do you want to keep going?”

He opens his mouth to say yes, and then feels the object in his palm shift, and guilt floods him.

“I have to go.”

He stands and teleports out.

He stumbles a bit out of the teleport- he was out of practice and apparently Comet still had some wards set up around the house, but he’s made it in one piece and that’s all that matters. He settles on the rooftop of whatever building this is, he doesn’t know, and looks down at the pencil.

The one he’d broken in his fist in its frantic squiggle across the paper.

 _‘It’s just a pencil.’_ He hears the thought as clearly as a voice. He’s not sure who it sounds like.

He should not be freaking out this much over a broken pencil.

_‘Worthless cur, what is your use if you cannot keep what basic supplies I give you-’_

He knows that one though.

….. But she’d given it to him. He’d had the opportunity to make something. Not like the unversed, that only ever seemed to hurt and want to hurt others, but actually do something _valuable_. And he’d still somehow managed to wreck it.

Ugh.

He stays there a while, trying to sort out his thoughts with little success. It slowly works into a downward spiral. Why had he even tried? Destruction really was all he was ever going to be good at, wasn’t it.

“You know it’s a good thing no one ever looks up or we would be getting so many strange looks right now.”

Vanitas jumps to his feet and stumbles backwards, keyblade already in hand, as the owner of the voice merely sits there completely unperturbed.

“What the- Demyx?” The weapon is lowered. He thinks it’s Demyx anyway. He looks… different. A dozen eyes blink asynchronously up at him. Black tendrils slink along the shadows of the roof.

“Myde actually!” Myde chirps. “I’m glad you recognize me, I wasn’t sure you would. Time travel is fucky, wasn’t sure which you I was dealing with.”

“What the fuck are you?”

“Rude! Here I am all ready to give you some worldly advice and all you can focus on is what I look like. A guy can’t pick up an eldritch monstrosity here and there without everyone judging him I guess.”

“I don’t need your advice.” Vanitas grumps, but deems the intruder not actively a threat and sits down, dismissing his keyblade. Myde clucks his tongue.

“Too bad. I like to think I’ve got some good ones in here. Like don’t take your phone in the shower, don’t trust adults who won’t apologize to children, honey is usually a better sweetener than sugar-”

“Do you have a point?” Vanitas grunts. Myde huffs.

“I already told you- oh, oh very funny. I do actually, I’m your friendly deus ex machina, but I did have a point before too thank you very much.”

Vanitas moves to pick up the bits of pencil that he’d dropped in his scramble, only to lose steam halfway through. They were already broken, after all.

“You should probably return that.” Myde says casually. Vanitas winces.

“Why? It’s broken.”

“So?” Myde shrugs.

Vanitas has no answer to that.

The sun sinks into the horizon. He’s not sure if he’s on another world where the time is different, or if he’s just been out here that long. Myde has pulled out some small stringed instrument and been plucking away at it idly for a while.

It’s.. kind of peaceful.

…. He shouldn’t have left.

“They’ll forgive you.” Myde says, Vanitas glares over at him.

“Get out of my head.” He snaps. Myde continues plucking at his instrument without reaction.

“Then stop thinking so loud. Naminé knows the fear of failing, of being the target of retribution for failure. She’s not upset. Just worried.”

“Get out of _her_ head.” Vanitas snipes. Myde chuckles.

“Would if I could. Bubbles likes me though, she doesn’t mind. You can ask her yourself later if you want.”

Vanitas stands, the broken pieces of pencil clutched in one hand. Myde glances up with a lazy grin.

“Going?”

Vanitas grunts something similar to an assent and before he can teleport a tendril of the abyss whisps through his hair, ruffling it affectionately. He bats it away.

“Don’t be so afraid of your own dark, kiddo. Doesn’t have to be all bad. Riku might have tips for that.”

“I’m not going to go running to Sora’s bestie.” He growls, and Myde merely shrugs.

“Can’t blame a man for tryin’.”

Vanitas teleports home, crashing awkwardly as he slips on the unexpected porcelain of his bathtub.

“What the fuck.” He grumbles as he climbs out.

“Van is that you? You okay?” He hears Comet call, from downstairs by the sounds of it.

“Fine!” He yells back, emerging from the room.

Haru and Naminé had left by that point, gone home before the sun had started to set. Comet assures him they’d asked after him, wanted to let him know that they were willing to hang out later if he wanted. Guilt curls in his gut. How long had he lasted? Ten minutes? He didn’t get why they would want to try again.

Comet just smiles sadly.

“They both know what it’s like to get overwhelmed. Naminé couldn’t make it through the celebration party, back when everything had just finished up. They’re willing to try, you just have to meet them halfway.”

He’s not entirely sure how to do that, but an idea forms in his head.

He waits a while, tries several times to wrap tape around the pencil to... Well, not much success, before eventually giving up. He’ll just have to give it back as is and hope she’s not too ~~disappointed~~ mad.

He tells Comet he’s leaving on his way out that afternoon, going to see Haru and Naminé.

“Wait, how are you going to get th-” The tail end of their comment is cut off as he teleports.

….. Apparently he might have to explain that later.

He reappears in Radiant Garden and head’s for Kaze’s small home, having gotten the location from Comet beforehand. He’s thankful, because the place is tucked away in an obscure corner of the Garden, only just off the wide swaths of blooming flowers and hidden between a larger building and a thick protective wall. It would have been near impossible to see without already knowing it was there.

He pauses on the front step only momentarily.

“Just do it, coward.” He tells himself, before knocking solidly on the frame.

Kaze answers, and a wide grin blooms on her face as she sees him, the tip of her tail twitching in delight.

“Oh hello, Van! It’s lovely to see you!” She gestures him closer and after a moment's hesitation he does, allowing her to rub a furry cheek into his temple.

It is one thing he likes about were’s, he supposes, greeting like that. It wasn’t as constricting as hugs.

“Are Haru and Naminé here?” He asks. She nods, stepping aside to allow him in.

“Sure, they’re just upstairs, go on up.” She gestures towards the staircase. “Nami! Haru! You have a guest!” She calls as he moves past her.

He lingers in the door at the top of the stairs, taking in the space.

Two beds lay against opposite walls. On the left is obviously Haru’s, the bedding simple but functional, only a few baubles dot the space. Two slim journals sit on his bedside stand, but the most eye catching feature is the night sky painted along the wall, with little yellow stars of various sizes.

On the right is Naminé’s, a bed overflowing with soft blankets and overstuffed pillows in all sorts of colours and hues. There’s a heavy quilt in the corner with a number of tears and claw marks dotting it. Books of all kinds are stacked on the nightstand, and there are sketchbooks and half completed pages scattered around the space. An easel sits in the corner, and paint splatters the walls in ways both intentional and not.

They both look up as he takes in the space, and he coughs awkwardly.

“Come in.” Naminé says sweetly. She has a large sketchpad balanced across her lap, and she seems very.. Comfortable and at home here. He takes a couple steps in but isn’t quite sure where to go after. Naminé waves him over and pats the bed next to her, pushing away the sheets that had previously been sitting there.

He takes the seat, and looks over her book.

She’s drawing Haru. The colours are soft, and he can see the obvious care and attention she’s put into his affectionate smile and the gold light splayed across his skin.

“How’s it look? I haven’t been allowed to see it yet.” Haru says from his seat across from them. Naminé pokes her tongue at him.

“You’ll see it when it’s done!”

“It looks really good.” Vanitas says. He has no idea what more she could do to it, but finds himself wrong when she continues dragging pencils across the paper, adding things he hadn’t even known were missing.

“Did you just come by to say hi?” Haru asks. Vanitas shrugs.

“Kind of.. I actually wanted to return..” He holds up the pencil bits, feeling foolish.

“Oh!” Naminé says as she takes them. “Thank you, I’d forgotten.”

“‘M sorry I broke it.” He mumbles, insides twisting. He knows Naminé couldn’t hurt him even if she wanted to, which she doesn’t.. But the fact that he cares about her opinion brings out an anxiety he wishes would disappear.

Naminé for her part just reaches into her satchel and pulls out a small bit of metal. She picks away the more jagged edges and then puts one into the metal bit, humming gently. He watches curiously, and when she’s finished with both formerly shattered ends there are wood shavings across the book and her legs as she holds both pencil pieces up brightly.

“It’s not broken, I just have two pencils now.”

She hands the one with two sharp ends back to him. Somehow he feels like she’s trying to tell him something.

“Would you like to join us? I’ve found I really enjoy drawing with others.”

Vanitas nods jerkily. He wants to actually stay this time. He looks over to Haru.

“So you draw too?”

“Nothing more than stick figures.” Haru shrugs. “I do like writing though, poetry mostly. Naminé says it counts.”

“All creative things count. It’s about the feel of the room more than it is about what you’re _technically_ doing.” She sits up, blows the lingering powder off the paper, and flips the book around to show Haru.

“It’s done!” She says cheerily. Haru looks at it in awe.

“There’s no way I’m that pretty, Nami.” He says, tracing his eyes across the gentle curves and soft lighting.

“I just drew what I saw.” She says, flushing and pleased. “Oh! We should give Vanitas his gifts before we get started!”

“What?” Vanitas says, surprised.

“We got you something, after last time we weren’t really sure if you’d want them, but you seem to still want to so-!” Naminé is leaning over and digging into a bag on the floor, and she pulls out a small book. She hands it to him with a smile.

“Here! Your own sketchbook, to put whatever you so desire in!”

He takes it with wide eyes, only to have Haru hand him something else, a small tin that rattles slightly. When he opens it, a short row of pencils stares back.

“It’s nothing too fancy, but since you’re probably still figuring out what you might want to make, I thought you might like some options.” Haru says kindly.

“........ Thank you.” Vanitas croaks. He’s not sure if he trusts himself to say anything else after that. He cracks open the front page of the book.

“You’re welcome. I hope you like them, Vanitas.” Haru says.

Vanitas looks up.

“You can.. Call me Van. I guess. If you want.”

“Sure, Van.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * annoying english schoolteacher voice * See, the pencil is a _metaphor_ for Ventus when he was forcibly split in two-
> 
>  
> 
> ...... *anyways* yes, myde and namine absolutely had a conversation about what he is and is not allowed to tell people. Myde can't always help it, sometimes things just pop out of his mouth without him quite realising what he's saying, but Namine did give him permission on some things, _provided_ it is with the intent to help someone. Her biggest condition is that he tell her later.
> 
> ALSO Namine is finally starting to feel safe and at home and i really hope it came through just how much more comfortable she is now. she's starting to really get into the art thing as a 'for fun and because i WANT to' thing, reclaiming it from what she HAD to do before.


	4. The Ugly Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas has a Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this one does deal with a ptsd flashback, triggers, and general panic attack stuff from an outside perspective. Vanitas is still dealing with the fallout of how he was treated, but if you are also dealing with these sorts of things i urge you to tread with caution. 
> 
> general summary if you're not up to reading this today: lea and comet have a spar while vanitas watches, comet makes a comment that is unfortunately similar to something xehanort used to say, and vanitas reacts badly. comet talks him down and then they all go for comfort snuggles and hot chocolate. the end.

“C’mon! Big bad keyblade wielder can do better than that right?” You jibe as you backstep hastily. Lea has a wide grin as he dances closer once more, delighting in the sparring match that has suddenly become an impromptu game of cat and mouse. 

You’d come down to the struggle arena to work off some energy and get a good workout in, and the spar was mostly just for fun if you’re being honest, but you definitely enjoy the test of skills. Today you’re going weaponless, trying to grab and pin each other down, the fires of competitiveness running through you.

Vanitas watches from the side quietly. You’d invited him along to watch today, hoping that maybe getting him out of the house will break the quiet funk he’s been in of late.

Weaponless is when the two of you are on most equal footing, Lea light on his feet and  _ fast _ whereas you are agile and tactful. When Lea uses his chakrams and you your escrima sticks, he has a slight edge on you that can be difficult to overcome, but when he uses his keyblade his lack of experience and being used to having two weapons means you have a distinct advantage.

No weapons and no powers though?

You dodge under a high grab, panting and grinning.

Is  _ glorious _ .

You swing around, managing a lucky grab to his elbow and twisting back but can’t hold it. He dances around you, a complicated set of fancy footwork moves that make your eyes blur as you try to follow them. You swing your own leg at his ankles, and he tries to skip over them but can’t quite clear it, catching the back of one heel on your leg. It doesn’t send him over, but it unbalances him just slightly, enough for you to get your leg back under you and launch yourself upward and into his chest.

He topples over, you twisting as you both fall, catching his arms and pinning them. You land with a hard thud, full weight on his chest, and he gasps as the air is knocked from him.

“Alright, alright!” He wheezes. “You got this one.”

“Damn straight.” You pant, breathless but grinning. You stand and offer him a hand up, which he takes. You walk over to where Van sits off at the side and grab the bottle of water you’d had waiting. You give Van a smile, which he returns, but he seems kind of out of it.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Vanitas shrugs. “Nice match.”

“Thank you!” You grin brightly, sweating and still high from the endorphins. “Felt good to really get moving again.”

“You’re only happy because you won this time.” Lea cracks, rubbing the back of his head and pouting. “Did you have to throw me that hard though? I think you cracked my skull.”

“Oh rub some dirt in it and walk it off.” You throw back. “You’re fine, right Van?”

You throw a grin down to Van, expecting him to get in on the banter, but he’s got a wide eyed, far away look that doesn’t look good.

“Van?”

**_Schwing_ **

Sharp claws drag you back by the back of your shirt sharply as Vanitas raises his keyblade. He still has that wide eyed, far away look in his eyes. There’s a stuttered growl behind you and you and almost physically feel Lea restraining the instincts probably screaming to respond to the clear threat. 

Vanitas stands there unmoving and unblinking at you both, ramrod straight and blade in front of him, pointed directly at your chest. You take only the briefest glance back to check on Lea. His eyes are trained on Vanitas, unwavering. The hand fisted in your vest doesn’t so much as twitch, and you try to shrug out of it.

The movement makes Vanitas jerk sharply, raising the blade from out and pointed at you up to a ready battle position. Lea drags you back and away in response, and you stop moving. 

Vanitas is deathly silent.

“Vanitas?” You try, hesitant. No response, but it doesn’t prompt him to attack either.  You wish you knew what had happened- why he’d-

_ Okay, Comet _ , you think, beating back the fear and worry and trying to focus on the  _ now _ .  _ Now is where you need to be. For Vanitas. _

“Vanitas, it’s okay.” You say softly, quietly. Stars, you hope this works. “Nobody is going to hurt you. We were just sparring for a bit, down in the struggle arena. Do you remember?”

No answer, but the blade trembles just slightly in his grasp. He looks like he’s sweating, but his expression remains utterly detached.

“It’s okay.” You repeat. “Nobody is going to hurt you. You’re safe here, I promise. We’re just in the struggle arena in Twilight Town, we were having a friendly spar.”

You feel Lea’s grip in your vest slowly release, as well as the ragged edges where he had assuredly torn through the fabric. You move forward slowly, painfully slowly, stopping if Van showed even a hint of movement.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here.” You keep repeating. You think you hear his breath hitch. He barely looks like he’s breathing at all otherwise.

You edge closer, murmuring quiet assurances. 

“It’s okay. We’re just at the struggle arena. In Twilight Town, remember? You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

You can see his breath starting to pick up, and tears prick at your eyes. Stars, what had you said? What had it been?

“It’s okay. I’m here for you, it’s me, Comet, and Lea. We’re here, you’re okay, you’re safe.”

Lea is tense and quiet at your back. It’s like being between a fire and a canyon ledge. Neither would hurt you, not on purpose, but only if you don’t make the wrong move.

“You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. I promise.”

Vanitas finally blinks, and the tip of the keyblade finally lowers just slightly.

“It’s me, Comet. Do you remember, Van?”

“... Comet?”

“Hey Van,” You say, relief flooding through you. “Are you okay? What do you need?”

He stares into your face, still wide eyed in confusion, before he glances down at the blade still in his hand, still partially pointed at you. He drops it like it’s burned him and his gaze jerks sharply back to you, fear stark in his features.

“Vanitas? You with us?” Lea says, finally. 

Vanitas’ head jerks, but you’re not sure if it’s supposed to be a shake or not, or if he even registered the question. He stumbles back, a step, two steps, and Lea realises what’s about to happen half a second before you do.

“Shit-” He curses and darts forward.

Vanitas tries to run, but his legs go weak and nearly crashes to the ground, saved by Lea catching him around the arm. He doesn’t hold him up though, instead easing him the rest of the way down. You kneel next to them as Van weakly jerks away from Lea’s grasp, panting harshly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” You soothe. “Do you want to talk, let us take you home? What do you need?”

Vanitas shudders, shaking his head, panting and tears starting to slip down his cheeks. It takes him a moment before he can croak out a short reply.

“Home.”

“Okay.” You say. “Can you make it? Do you want us to help you?”

His breath shudders as he scrubs angrily at the tears running down his face, sharp sobs hiccuping in his chest. You wait patiently, feel Lea move next to you, a hand wrapping around your arm, needing the comfort of contact.

Vanitas hesitates as he tries to push the sobs down, looking furious and embarrassed with himself, but eventually reaches up to grip at your bicep and pulls himself to his feet, leaning heavily on you. He bats your hands away when you try to reach out and help though, so you keep your hands to yourself and try to be as steady as you can as he continues to lean against you.

You glance up at Lea, concern in his features.

“Could you go on ahead, maybe start setting out some hot chocolate?” You ask him quietly. He nods.

“I’ll see you both at home.” He says like a promise. “I love you, okay?”

He glances between you both meaningfully, and then turns away, heading for home.

“How are you doing, Van?” You ask quietly, not moving yet, waiting on him to set the pace. He takes a deep, shaky breath.

“‘M sorry.” He mutters. You bite your cheek. That wasn’t what you had asked.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You answer. He doesn’t seem to want to talk more though, and you try to respect that, quietly supporting him back to the bar, His steps grow more sure as you go, but if anything he gets more tired.

You’ve never had a flashback quite like that, but you’ve had panic attacks before. You hope Lea has already pulled out the blankets.

Lea sees you coming and holds the doors for you as you enter the bar and head upstairs. He’s shifted fully now, ears and senses perked and alert, and a low rumble in his chest. Sure enough there are a pile of blankets waiting on the couch, and several mugs of hot chocolate steaming on the coffee table. You guide Vanitas to the couch and he sits down heavily, and you instantly drag one of the blankets over to wrap around him.

Wrapping anything around Van could be a hit and miss, whether it be arms or scarves or blankets, so you move slowly, watching for any indicator he might be uncomfortable, especially since he hadn’t been okay with hands earlier, but he actually reaches out for the fabric, pulling it around himself as much as you wrap it around him. You clutch the edge in one hand tightly, wanting nothing more than to hug him, shield him from the world, from whatever put him in that place.

He reaches out for one of the mugs, sipping it lightly, heedless of the heat. Lea takes a seat on one side, and you remain crouched not quite in front of him. His eyes droop tiredly, and the bags under them stand out starkly.

“Xehanort used to say that.” He says, voice raw and quiet, without prompting. Your grip in the blanket tightens.

“Say what?” Lea asks. You get up and sit on Vanitas’ other side, and he leans into you.

“ _ Get up. You’re fine, boy. Walk it off _ .” He pitches his voice low in imitation. “Whenever he came for training..” His voice trembles, and you lean into him just a little, trying to provide what comfort you could when you couldn’t hug him.

“I’m so sorry Van.” You whisper, your own voice a little tremulous. “I had just been teasing Lea, because I knew he wasn’t seriously hurt, but I will never say it again. I promise.”

Vanitas shrugs a little, and won’t look up at you, but he doesn’t pull away. He sips more at his drink.

“I promise.” You repeat. “Do you want to stay here for a while?”

He nods, but it’s small and sluggish. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep. You lean your head over so you can rest your cheek on top of his head, humming a little. You feel Lea kick up a rumbling purr on his other side. Vanitas droops further.

You hum an old lullaby you barely remember. It’s not long before he sags against you entirely as exhaustion takes him. You lean back into the couch, slowly so as to not wake him, getting more comfortable and less likely to have Vanitas accidentally pitch forward into his half finished drink.

Lea curls around you both. It’s a little awkward, and you have to adjust him a couple times as he tries to drape arms across your bodies, but eventually you sort something out where you can both cuddle without putting hands on or over Van. 

You sniffle a little roughly, hoping it’s good enough. Guilt would eat you alive if he were to wake up only to be catapulted right into another attack.

“I regret not killing the bastard myself.” Lea says quietly, just over your head, fur tickles you at the edge of your senses.

“At least someone did.” You say. “Or I would be right there with you.”

You’ve never hated someone so much as you hate this man you’ve never met.

You could never forgive what he’d done to so many people. To children. To people dependant on him. 

You couldn’t forgive that. Not ever.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i managed to do this well, this kind of panic is a serious thing. comet is probably going to start looking into therapists shortly here


	5. Lookalike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanitas decides a change is in order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Van and Sora are getting on better, but if the Vanitas who was trapped in the dark was totally fine with being Sora's body double.. the one who is free and healing has a few more issues with it. He's trying to be his own person, and that gets harder when there's someone walking around looking like a colour swapped version of you.

“Sora! Hey Sora, wait up!”

Vanitas cringes.

He’s left his bandanna back at the bar by accident somehow when Comet asked him to go out and grab some ingredients for them. He almost hadn’t realized until whoever this kid was had started calling out for Sora.

His shoulders tense, and he does one frantic scan in case the actual Sora had somehow happened to be there, and when he doesn’t find him him forces himself not to react to the name.

“Hey man why are you- oh.” A hand grabs him by the shoulder, and Vanitas can’t help but grab the offending appendage and twist it it back on autopilot.

“Ow ow ow jeez chill out dude!” It’s a boy with short blond hair, flanked by a dark haired boy and a brown haired girl. He’s seen them around town before, but he doesn’t recall their names. Clearly they know Sora, however.

“You shouldn’t have grabbed him, Hayner, really.” The girl reprimands before turning to Vanitas. “We’re really sorry, we thought you were someone else. Please let him go.”

He holds the position just a moment longer than he strictly has to (and ignores the shame that wells from within at the act. It sounds unfairly like Comet) and then releases him.

Hayner rubs his wrist, pouting slightly.

“Jeez dude, overreact much- hey where are you going?”

Vanitas doesn’t stop. He storms back into the bar and heads straight for the stairs, very nearly ignoring Comets questions.

“Didn’t get any.” He grunts, and then disappears. He belatedly realizes they hadn’t been asking about the ingredients they’d sent him out for.

He curls up on the corner of his bed, sulking.

He and Sora aren’t on.. bad terms, really. But he wouldn’t say they’re really friendly yet either, though Sora is certainly trying. Vanitas is trying too, but he just doesn’t know what he’s doing most of the time, and that scares him more than he cares to admit. It scares him to admit he likes the bouncing ball of sunshine that is his body double.

It doesn’t change the fact that he _hates_ being mistaken for Sora. He’s not Sora. He’s not even his reflection any more really. It’s just a bad reminder of the things he once did. Of what he is. Or was. He doesn’t know anymore.

He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants the world to stop making him think about it.

—-

“Van?” You say, knocking quietly on the doorframe. He glances up but doesn’t respond otherwise.

“Can I come in?” You ask. He waits, and then gives a small nod.

You come in and sit next to him, close enough to touch but without actually doing so.

“What happened, kiddo?” His eyes narrow from where his face is buried in his knees.

“Nothing. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb if it’s got you hiding in your room like this.”

“I’m not hiding and I'm not Sora!” He bursts out, arms flying out in emphasis. “But he looks like me, people keep- I used to- ugh.”

Words appear to fail him, and his hands fall limply to the bed.

“I know you’re not Sora. The rest of the crew knows you’re not. Screw other people, Van, the important ones know.”

Vanitas glances at you, and then just sort of slumps sideways, head coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Some kid grabbed me. Thought I was Sora.”

Ah jeez.

“He shouldn’t have done that, but please tell me you didn’t hurt him.”

“No, just grabbed his arm.”

You wait.

“Twisted it a little.”

You can’t help a small sigh of disappointment, thinking of the apologies that will have to get doled out later. Hopefully the kids wrist wasn’t seriously hurt. Vanitas wouldn't be the first overpowered child around here that didn't know his own strength.

Vanitas winces and starts to pull away, but you reach your arm around him and rest your hand on his shoulder blade, not hard to enough to truly stop him, but enough to hopefully assure him he didn’t have to withdraw if he didn’t actually want to.

“I _am_ going to make you apologize to that kid later, Van, but I’m not mad. You have issues with people touching you, and I can’t get mad at you for that.”

You stay like that for a bit, Vanitas just quietly trying to control his breathing, until you reach up to run your fingers through his hair and he bats your hand away. You return your hand to his back, thumb rubbing small circles into his shoulder blade.  

“I wanna cut it.” He says eventually.

“Your hair?”

“Yeah. Like yours.”

That takes you aback.

“An undercut? Really?” He ducks his face down into your collarbone so you can’t see it. You can see the tips of his ears turn red though. He nods.

“Okay. Yeah we can do that. You wanna go to the place I usually do or-“

He pulls back at that, vehemently shaking his head.

“No I want you to do it.”

You hold still, hand still on his back.

“Sure, cub. I’m no barber though, I can’t promise it’ll be pretty.” You haven’t really had to cut your own hair since Traverse Town, but you think you still have an old set of clippers around somewhere.

He shrugs. “That’s fine.”

“Okay,” You say as you stand. “Take a search for pictures of undercuts, see if there’s anything specific you like, and I’ll go find my stuff, okay?”

He already has his phone out, and you leave.

It takes you a while, and you almost start to worry that you might have accidentally thrown them out, but eventually you find them tucked into an old box stuffed between a cabinet and the wall. You test the blades, they’re not as sharp as they could be but they're serviceable and rust free. Considering how long it’s been since they’ve been used they must have been enchanted. You do a little maintenance and give them a quick test before deciding they’ll do.

You return upstairs, and Vanitas already has something picked out. It’s still similar to yours, though it takes more from the back and accounts better for his spikes. You already know you aren’t going to be able to mimic it perfectly, but you assure him you’ll try your best.

You set up on the floor of the bathroom, towels strewn about. Vanitas looks suddenly nervous.

“Hair grows back, but if you want to stop you only have to say so, Van.”

He shakes his head.

“No, I want this.”

“Okay.” You turn the razor on.

You tell him stories as you trim the sides. How your first cut had been mostly an accident after a run in with some heartless had sent you tumbling into some muck that had simply refused to come out. Traverse Town hadn’t allowed much time for upkeep of styles, but you’d fallen in love with the look and hadn’t let it go since.

You tell him how Aerith used to help you with the edges and back sides. It was difficult to do yourself and she had the steadiest hands. You tell him how you learned never to let Yuffie do it. You tell him about the time Aerith got sick and Squall had offered to help you do it instead, only for you both to end up in tears on the floor out of worry for your bedridden sister.

Cid had categorically refused to touch it. He barely touched his own hair, so you’d supposed that was fair.

You brush away the clinging bits of hair and lean back, considering. You pick up a pair of scissors, trimming his spikes just a touch, and then gesture him up so he can look in the mirror.

He stares for a long time, a hand reaching up to brush the sides. You fiddle with the scissors nervously.

His eyes are wide, and turns his head this way and that to get a good look.

“That’s all it took, huh.” You think he’s as much talking to himself as he is to you.

“A haircut can do wonders.” You say. He leans in a little closer to the mirror, and then nods, a grin blossoming on his face.

“I love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Van is probably always going to have issues tbh, but i feel like this is the point where he really starts coming into his own. He's realising he can be whoever he wants, if he wants to work hard enough for it. also haircuts are great for fresh starts, physically, emotionally, and metaphorically.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Vanitas finally has his own room! With his own things! It’s a lot for him, right now, but he’ll adjust and start decorating to his own wants and desires.  
> We plan on using this fic as a bank for drabbles of this sort. Just...Vanitas adjusting to being a loved and wanted person, who is respected and cherished.


End file.
